


Will You Pour Me One For the Road?

by PossiblyNobody



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Big Peter Lukas, Christmas Party, Fourth Divorce and Counting, LonelyEyes, M/M, Not That Smutty I Promise Despite The Tags, Peter Lukas Being a Bastard, Sorry Not Sorry, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26862730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PossiblyNobody/pseuds/PossiblyNobody
Summary: 'You’ve embarrassed me at the Institute Christmas Party for the last time'What happened at the Christmas party that led to LonelyEyes’ fourth divorce.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 40





	Will You Pour Me One For the Road?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from One For The Road by Arctic Monkeys, because I think it fits their dynamic way too well. 
> 
> This is my first time writing something this smutty, it's still pretty tame but be gentle with me it's my first time.

It started, like most of their marriages, divorces, and worse ideas, with a bet. 

Elias had bet Peter, in a fit of boredom, that the other man couldn’t spend an entire day on the Jubilee line in the London underground, one of the more notoriously busy tube lines. 

The stakes were reasonably low, for them. 

If Elias won (which he was smugly certain that he would), Peter would have to buy Elias a new suit. This was most of his reason for making the bet, as he wanted a new one for Christmas, and Lukas money tended to obtain things of a higher quality. There was a new suit shop that had opened up on Jermyn street in Piccadilly that he wanted to make a trip to as soon as he could get away from the Institute for ann afternoon. 

If Peter won, then Elias would wear whatever his husband wanted to the annual Institute Christmas Party (officially the Institute Winter Holiday Party for the sake of appearances, but the common vernacular around the office, and particularly among the archive staff, took no notice of that). 

It was rather a win-win for Elias, as either outcome would end in new clothes for him — and although Peter had a sadistic streak a mile wide, he also enjoyed dressing Elias up in sartorial masterpieces too much to put him in anything too horrendous. 

Elias’ own sadistic streak was coming out a little at the thought of Peter wedged uncomfortably between various members of the London masses all day, and he looked forward to checking in on him all day. 

Peter rarely resisted their bets, and really he should have Known that his husband had something up his sleeve when he agreed so easily with a glint in his eye. 

Unfortunately the fog that swirled around Peter’s head made it hard to Know anything about him that he didn’t want him to know. 

It wasn’t a bet that he was particularly worried to lose, so he settled in two days later, leaning back in the leather chair at his desk, and opened his Eyes to check in on how Peter was faring in the morning rush, warming his hands around a coffee a tiny bit gleefully in the quiet in his empty office. 

A prickle of annoyance flared when he realised that the carriage Peter occupied was completely deserted.

Feeling his presence, Peter spoke aloud, seemingly to himself - ‘how fortunate that today the London Underground decided to do maintenance to their Jubilee Line’, he paused, smiling at his own reflection in the dark of the underground where he must be between tube stations, ‘it’s almost as though they were mysteriously sent some funding to renovate their line, what a shame’.

The small annoyance grew into a futile sense of outrage that Elias mentally batted away, continuing to watch as Peter took out a knife and scratched a crude eye onto the carriage window.

‘Now darling I know how you like to watch, and this way you can check up on me all day as I'm planning on taking a nap, though I imagine that might get a little boring for you now that the train will stay empty between stops all day. The staff thought it was strange, but who argues with eccentric patrons of the Underground?’

As he finished drawing the eye, Elias furiously blinked and shifted his point of view to the new eye, watching his far-too-smug husband cross his arms and maintain eye contact, clearly aware of being observed. 

Sprawled in the seat, legs splayed wide and inviting and watching the scratched eye with an intense look, he murmured heatedly ‘oh I’m looking forward to dressing you up, just for me’. 

Before leaning back and closing his eyes, ostensibly to go to sleep. 

Blinking back into his office, he noted almost absently that his fingers had gone white around his mug from gripping it rather rightly and he focused on relaxing his grip and putting it back down on the table. 

He didn’t like Peter's tone about dressing him up, it didn’t sound like he was going to win this bet in the slightest. 

Leaning back and casting his mind across the institute, he checked in on his workers and tried to ignore the looming sense of regret about making the bet in the first place. 

—————————————————————————————————————————

A few weeks later, Elias was mortified. 

He had definitely lost the bet. Lost the bet and was about to lose his dignity in front of extremely important donors, not to mention his staff, who were certainly never going to look at him with any kind of respect ever again if they ever even SUSPECTED…

‘Darling are you ready yet’ a smug voice wafted in from the bedroom. 

Snapping back, ‘I cannot believe you would do this, it was not at all outlined in the parameters of our bet, Peter’, he nevertheless pulled up a pair of lace underwear (thankfully made specifically with male dimensions in mind), up and over the bulge where a newly purchased plug rested within him. 

Lazily, Peter quoted back to him ‘you said you would wear “whatever I wanted” to the party, love, I rather think that this fits quite… snugly into the parameters of our bet, don’t you think?’

He was going to commit a homicide, he was sure of it. 

Lifting up the trousers and securing the belt, Elias surveyed himself in the mirror, hoping that the Eye wasn’t watching HIM right now, with his flushed face. 

One think that did take the sting out of this a little was that Peter also deemed it necessary to get him a new suit to go over the new purchases, so he did get to go to the new shop after all. But if you asked him whether it was worth this humiliation… well Elias would have to get back to you on that one. 

The lines of the suit were thankfully not cut so close that any of his predicament was made obvious. In fact the deep red, dried blood colour of the suit jacket would draw any attention firmly away from his lower region, something that he was pathetically thankful of, even though he knows it was by design. 

Falling only slightly lower than fashionable, it covered all the necessary parts, and would hopefully be put down to the jacket being more holiday themed than sartorially inclined. 

Pushing his hair out of his face and affixing it with a product of two, he walked out into the bedroom, where Peter lay on the bed. 

Stretched out as if he owned the place (which, in more sense than one, he did, but that was besides the point), he was wearing a complementary version of Elias’ own suit, this one facilitating an absolute reverse of what Peter usually chose his clothes to be.

Rolling up and off the bed, he towered over him a little and let Elias drink him in. 

Usually he chose his clothes to hide his sheer bulk, making it seem as though he had a harmless Santa-esque physique, usually helped by atrocious tailoring or lumpy sailor’s jumpers that were all cable knit and no shape to be seen. 

This made him look more dangerous - the correct tailoring for once made him look every inch the dangerous avatar that he was. 

The broad shoulders emphasised and biceps straining a little around a forest green jacket, he knew that they would make a thematically appropriate pair, but beyond that, his mouth dried a little at the sight and sheer size of his husband, shifting slightly before being reminded why he was annoyed at him in the first place as he jolted in place as the plug rubbed against his insides. 

Unable to resist the urge to touch a little, he smoothed imaginary wrinkles off his jacket, before walking carefully towards the door, saying ‘come along then, it wouldn’t do to be late as the head of the Institute’.

Even without Knowing, he knew that there were eyes firmly affixed to his arse as he walked. 

—————————————————————————————————————-

Walking into the ballroom that they had for the evening, Elias could tell he was in for a long night. 

What was before rather pleasant and tolerable in the privacy of his own home, was altogether TOO pleasant and therefore unduly intolerable in the public setting of a ballroom, surrounded by staff and patrons alike. 

Exchanging mindless pleasantries with Simon Fairchild, his mind wandered and he thought that maybe alcohol might help, but he didn’t know if it was worth the risk of potentially losing what little control he did have in the situation. 

It didn’t help that Peter had decided that, as an extra layer, he wouldn’t be touching Elias tonight, so he saw his husband from across the ballroom, engaged in a lively-looking conversation with Martin, raising a glass in his direction when they made eye contact. 

Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the conversation and resolved to ignore him for the remainder of the night, potentially leaving as early as reasonably polite. 

Slowly circling the room, he managed to speak with five different groups of people with varying levels of boredom, before beginning to wonder if drinks maybe were the way to survive the evening. 

After a few more minutes of idle chatter, he was able to excuse himself and wander, with very small steps that he tried to make look natural, to the drinks table - having decided ultimately that it was the only way that he was going to make it through the evening without committing a murder and/or suicide. 

He looked up when collecting a glass of champagne, lowly thanking the waiter, before making slightly startled eye contact with Jon, who had just arrived next to him. 

He was clearly spending too much energy on attempting to look natural and not enough being aware of his surroundings if he didn’t see the nervous man’s approach. 

Apparently not enough energy on looking natural though, as Jon narrowed his eyes at him in distrust before saying: ‘why is Peter Lukas here and talking with Martin of all people?’

Ah, young love. To be that young, 

Jon continued, ‘I bet he’s trying to corrupt Martin against me, we need to stop him Elias’.

And dumb, that young and extremely dumb. 

But he could hardly pass up a golden opportunity to make Peter as inconvenienced as him right now, so he gently stoked the flames, frowning a little: ‘that is strange, usually Mr. Lukas sticks to his own family or the other patrons at events like this, I wonder if he’s taken a vested interest in Mr. Blackwood’.

Sputtering out ‘vested interest!?’, Jon grabbed him by the arm and started near-dragging him over to them, whilst he barely had the wherewithal to sputter out ‘decorum Jon, this is a patron’ before trying to contain gasps at being jolted so unexpectedly. 

Arriving by the two men, Martin immediately reddened, which Jon narrowed his eyes at, clearly not noticing that Martin flushed at Jon’s approach as opposed to anything Peter would have done. 

Sometimes Elias despaired quietly, wondering if he made the right choice, promoting this clearly oblivious Archivist, but then sometimes he made startling deductions, so he was calmed by that at least. 

Seeing a raised eyebrow in his direction, he elected to ignore the larger man and turn to Martin, asking ‘how are you enjoying the festivities Martin? Jon here was worried you were getting caught in more of the bureaucracy than enjoying the party with your peers’ ignoring, also, Jon’s betrayed look in favour for seeing Martin’s face flush deeper, this time with happiness at Jon’s implied care, and seeing in his peripheral, Peter’s eyes narrow a little. 

Stammering a little, Martin managed to get out: ‘I’ve been talking about boats with Mr. Lukas, it’s been fascinating! But yes, I do suppose that it would be nice to talk in a bit more of a relaxed way with you’ directing that last part at Jon.

Jon whose mouth fell open a little, but recovered impressively quickly and grabbing his wrist, dragging him away (ostensibly ‘saving’ him from an ‘Evil Lukas’, but Martin didn’t need to know that part), saying as he took him out of earshot ‘in which case, Martin, I have to get you to try the tea-infused cocktails, they’re not really my speed but I presume that…’ 

A little proud at his conniving Archivist, he smiled, a tiny quirk of the lips, before turning to the remaining man who looked unimpressed. 

‘Stealing my toys, Mr. Bouchard?’ he said in a bored tone, reaching for a smart phone that he couldn’t remember the other man owning. 

‘My toys, Mr. Lukas’ he replied lightly ‘or did you forget that they Institute is my domain, no matter the funding sources?’

Suddenly what he thought was just a plug erupted into low, steady, vibrations and he couldn’t contain a small whimper, glaring up at his husband. 

‘You’d be amazed what modern technology can do these days’, he said causally, holding his phone up, continuing, ‘why, with one app on your phone you can do all sorts of things’.

Slapping a discreet hand onto a nearby marble pillar (thank the gods these things were held in places with such things) as something to lead/push on, he bitterly got out ‘for someone who likes isolation, you seem to be fine with sharing my reactions with everyone’ and tried to get himself under control, turning away from the prying eyes of the ballroom.

‘You’re so used to knowing everyone’s little secrets,’ he murmured, leaning down, ’I quite like being the only one who knows about this one’ increasing the strength with a wolfish grin.

Unable to hold back a gasp, he felt a presence come up behind them, another donor. 

The vibrations were turned down, but not switched off, to a low thrum, and Elias had to turn around to the person in question. 

Faking a concerned look of a dutiful husband, Peter said to the newcomer ‘I think he must have had a little too much champagne, it can cause havoc on the body’ pouting sympathetically, mockingly, at him. 

A concerned gaze turning on him, he gritted out ‘I’m fine, thank you for your worry, it was merely a dizzy spell’, before carrying on the conversation. 

And that pattern continued for the next two hours - in between people coming up to them, Peter would increase the vibrations until he could barely bear it, until his reactions became visible and visceral, until someone came up under the guise of concern but almost always to relish in Elias being humiliated. 

Even though they didn’t know the reason for it, assuming alcohol or a food poisoning case that he was too stubborn to leave from, they all still delighted in his misery. 

Meanwhile Elias was on the precipice of orgasm, and had been kept there for the past two hours, wanting to murder his husband more and more with each passing moment. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, was when Simon Fairchild rejoined them for conversation and Peter either didn’t deign to, or didn’t remember to, turn the vibrations back down. 

Trying to hint at him to use his phone, the larger man refused with a very amused face, too amused. 

Red beginning to tunnel his vision, he turned to him and said, breaking into something Mr. Fairchild was saying and louder than he intended in his diminished state, allowing the groups surrounding them to also hear:

‘Peter, you’ve embarrassed me at the Institute Christmas Party for the last time, I want another divorce’.

The room was far too quiet, quiet enough that Elias could almost hear the buzzing inside of him.

Some brave soul in the corner of the room muttered a little too loudly ‘it’s the Winter Holiday Party’, but was duly ignored. 

Cocking his head to one side, Peter just looked at him, gauging his seriousness. 

Knowing that it wouldn’t be their last divorce, or marriage, Elias held resolute. And could see the moment that Peter saw that too. 

Sighing a little, he said ‘and I was so looking forward to unwrapping my Christmas present’.

Glaring at him and the room in general before they all began to talk among themselves again, Simon Fairchild excusing himself from the conversation with a grace Elias himself didn’t quite maintain currently, he tightly replied: ‘Not. Happening’.

With a flash of a predatory smile, and before Elias could stop him, his large, stupidly beautiful, asshole, soon-to-be-ex-husband murmured ‘consider this your divorce present’, before flicking a button on his phone, turning the vibrator to the highest setting, wrapping a huge hand around the back of neck, gripping it tightly, and swallowing the sounds of Elias’ orgasm in a dirty, open mouthed kiss. 

Many, many, mind-melting seconds later, knees thoroughly buckled, he was deposited, flushed and panting, onto a nearby chair.

The vibrations stopped, the phone in his lap, and Peter had disappeared with the softest hint of a forehead kiss and a swirl of fog. 

Shifting a little in his seat, increasingly aware of the feeling of his release in his new trousers, as well as the lace that he had so far been able to ignore, all he could really think of was how he was going to top the divorce present he had just received.

And really, a divorce was so much paperwork and they did it so often that they should really introduce some perks with it as well. 

At least he got a new suit out of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I love two bastard men, they're great.


End file.
